After spending a glorious 48 Hours in Nice, France I decided it would be silly not to pop on down to Cannes to see what this little local film festival was all about. So after a quick & refreshing swim in the French Riviera, I headed to the train station and hopped aboard the next train down.
The train only takes about 30 minutes which didn’t leave me much time at all to formulate a game plan for tackling the festival as a non-industry commoner, so I decided to just try my luck wandering around.
Fountain in Cannes, France
Fountain in Cannes, France
Fountain in Cannes, France
Being Europe, wonderful statues & architecture and cafes on cobblestone streets abounded, so it was a pleasant and picturesque stroll. I made my way down to the waterfront which was Cannes Film Festival 2017 Central.
I walked down Promenade de la Croisette with its designer shops and felt the anticipation for the evening mounting. I found myself a seat and watched it all unfurl as I enjoyed a little picnic dinner of cheese, fruit, crackers, jam, & nutella I had brought along.
After this lovely little sojourn, I decided to meander back on though the town to the train station and head back to Nice since my flight back to NY was in the morning. I had a few minutes to spare until my train and intended to use the restroom, but it cost 50 Cents, so I opened my bag to pull out my wallet. Only to discover that it was not inside.
I went into a cold sweat and the pre-panic calm where you mentally say to yourself “CALM DOWN AND THINK! Did I bring it with me? Where did you last see it??” etc etc etc. Since I hadn’t used it in Nice and had my bag zipped up and in sight the whole time, I decided that I must’ve left it on my bed at my hotel as I packed my bag for the outing, so I boarded the train to Nice.
On the train, I kept urging myself to stay calm. “In 30 minutes you’ll be there and your wallet will be there or we’ll kick into gear and have the hotel contact Cannes police, in the meantime, there’s nothing you can do, so don’t freak out”. But then, my brain flashed to a picture of my lap as I enjoyed my little repas along the promenade. A black flat surface I used to balance my Nutella packet. My wallet. I must’ve thought I put it in my bag and instead of dropping it in it dropped on the ground?
At this point I’m halfway to Nice. Do I stay on board and check the hotel or get off and return to the scene of the crime? I check the train times and confirm that the last train departing Cannes for the evening is at 10:41, which wouldn’t give me time to go to Nice first and go back if it’s not at the hotel. We’re at a stop. I need to decide. I run off the train and wait for the next train heading back.
Thanks to all the meditation, I am able to force myself into controlled calm. We arrive back at Cannes and I’m off. Running full speed through the cobblestone streets and alleys to the amazement of the cafe dwellers and festival goers in their tuxes & gowns.
I return to what had earlier been my spot of contentment which was now a scene of horror. Well, to me. Because of course. No wallet. I go to the bouncers & gatekeepers to all the nearby beach club entrances which had party’s for the evening “J’ai perdu une pochette voici. Un petit sac a main noir? Est-ce qu’on personne retournu??” After mangling their language, they usually replied in English. “No, sorry.” All of them pointing me to the police van parked across the street (Aside: all of them also ridiculously kind & emphatic and wanting to help). So there I headed. He called in to the main office, but no one had turned in a wallet.
Oh. Maybe this is a good time to add the fact that my passport was in my wallet? And how my flight back to NY is in the morning? Just in case this isn’t high enough stakes for you.
The policeman gave me the address for “objets trouve” (found objects) so I started jogging in that direction. However, along the way, I asked a couple of official festival organizers if there was also an “objets trouve” for the festival itself. There was and it wasn’t too far out of the way, so I decided to head there first to cover all my bases.
Does this story not have enough drama for you? Let me remind you that the last train to Nice is at 10:41. It’s now 10:08pm. In addition, the festival is now in full swing, meaning crowds. Not only can I no longer run at full speed, but I’m often frustratingly stuck amongst the throng, going nowhere. It’s at one of these moments that I decide I might as well try to at least superficially acknowledge the major world event I’m stuck in the middle of:
I arrive at the Festival Lost & Found. It’s closed for the night. It’s almost a relief with the time counting down. From there, I’m able to take less populated streets and take off at a run again to the police Lost & Found. I get to the street, but see no street numbers on the shops. I trust Google and arrive at the pin for 45. I finally find a street number 47 – but the buildings next to it don’t look promising. A lovely young man sees my confusion and helps me out. Together, we find the Policia Municapale. But they are also closed. It’s 10:30. I profusely thank him and run as fast as my little legs will carry me back to the train station.
Now I’m back on the train. Pouring sweat. Desperately fighting back sobs. There’s nothing more I can do now until the morning. I start putting my checklist together in my head. Call the airline to see what my options are for my flight. Ask the hotel reception to notify me if it turns up (since it had a branded room key card inside). In the morning, have them call the Lost & Found booths…
Then my brain flashes back to the scene of my evening meal. That flat, black object – couldn’t that have been my phone? Hope starts to build as I picture my wallet sweetly & serenely waiting for me on my bunk at my hotel. It keeps the collapse into exhausted sobs at bay. Crying won’t help.
Back in Nice I trot back to my hotel and get a temporary key from the front desk. “Just bring it back in 2 minutes” he tells me. I explain the situation and warn him that I will definitely be back in 2 minutes, but my be elated or dejected depending on what I do or don’t find.
I let myself into the room…
There it was. Sitting on my bed where I left it.
I share my joy with the receptionist and collapsed into my bunk exhausted physically and emotionally from my adventure and ridiculously grateful. Happy that I’m a forgetful fool who forgets her wallet entirely rather than a careless fool who would drop her wallet on the busiest street in the most popular film festival in the world.
To be fair – when I first started running through the Cannes Film Festival amongst all the people in their tuxes and gowns I thought – how funny it’s like my very own personal adventure movie. I’m not seeing the films, because my LIFE is more exciting. And I hoped there’d be a happy ending. And there always is.